


You're Breakin' My Heart Cap

by SherlockWolf



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Post Civil War, Rated for swearing, Stucky - Freeform, mixed in with a bunch of thoughts because bucky thinks about a lot of things all the time, post cryo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7801714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWolf/pseuds/SherlockWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky thinks a lot about a lot of things. Apparently, Steve thinks about a lot of the same things at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Breakin' My Heart Cap

    “You’re breakin’ my heart, Captain.”

“How’s that, Sergeant?”

Bucky’s head dropped onto Steve’s lap, right over the sketch he was doodling into his notebook. Steve groaned in protest, but instead of pushing Bucky off, he draped one arm over his chest and the other curled around his head. Steve’s fingers wove into Bucky’s hair, the charcoal pencil and notebook lying forgotten on the couch cushion.

    Bucky shrugged, not having had an actual reason for his statement other than nostalgia over playful wartime banter. He lifted his arm opposite Steve’s naked chest and traced Steve’s rounded jawline with his pointer finger. Steve’s eyes tracked his until Bucky’s finger and thumb ended their journey on his plush lips.

“Missed you.” He mumbled, dropping his hand back to his side.

What a damn understatement.

“Missed you, too.” Steve’s fingers tightened ever so slightly in Bucky’s hair.

“Don’t get all choked up on me.” Bucky teased, noticing the tell-tale bob of Steve’s throat that indicated he was fighting off tears.

“Shuddup.” Steve grumbled, glancing away toward the window. Bucky turned his head and followed his gaze.

    The Wakandan jungle sprawled before them, with green plants of too many species to count coiled together in endless patterns. Here and there a colourful bird would flitter in and out of view, chirping to its heart’s content. Randomly a larger creature would bellow from within the depths. The scene of thriving life never failed to place a content smile on Bucky’s face.

    The hand in his hair loosened, then traveled to trace his jaw, forehead, nose, lips…

    Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed. The hand he’d used to touch Steve earlier joined Steve’s hand on his chest. They wove their fingers together and gave each other a tiny squeeze.

    Bucky could forget himself like this. He could forget freezing himself, could forget breaking Steve’s family apart, could forget escaping Hydra, could forget the Soldier, could forget dying, could forget the war. He could forget everything except for Steve.

    Which, if he thought about it, would simply bring him full circle to remembering everything because his reality was shaped around Steve. He could define his life in times of Steve. His childhood with Steve, his adolescence with Steve, his time in the shoebox apartment with Steve, the war without Steve, the war with Steve, his death which was the second time without Steve, being rescued by Steve, hiding from Steve, being found by Steve, fighting for Steve, hiding from him again because he didn’t want to break his family even further, being woken by Steve, and now today—with Steve.

    He could easily go on about how Steve was literally his world. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes orbited around Captain Steven Grant Rogers. It was humbling—and somewhat horrifying—that he and Steve really were like a planet-moon system: without the other, one would cease to function. Humbling, because Bucky could hardly believe he was loved that much by another person. Horrifying, because…well.

    When Steve had lost Bucky that day on the train, he didn’t last long. Bucky had been “dead” for barely a month when Steve drove that airship into the ice. He remembers in clear detail the day that one of his captors brought him a newspaper with the bolded headline, “ _Captain America’s Ultimate Sacrifice for the World”._ The Hydra grunt had shoved the newspaper at him and in broken English said, “Your hero is dead, American. You will lose the war.”

    As if that was what had had Bucky collapsing on the freezing concrete floor in sobs, gripping the paper in his hands as if it were a line to the gates of Heaven that could bring Steve back to him.

    Bucky didn’t last long without Steve. Somehow, thinking that Steve was gone from this wretched world was enough for Bucky to lose himself far easier to Hydra than he would have allowed if he’d had hope of seeing Steve again. Steve was gone, and if letting Hydra torture him to death was what brought him back to Steve, he had settled with that thought.

    Until he realized that they weren’t just torturing him. But, because he had lost himself, he was barely able to put up a fight. And thus, the Winter Soldier was born.

    Steve’s hand in his hair gave a little tug that pulled Bucky from his thoughts. He rolled his head and opened his eyes to look up at Steve.

“Hey.” Steve whispered, looking a bit apologetic for pulling Bucky from his thoughts.

“Hi.” Bucky winked up at him.

    Bucky had been out of cryo for about six months now. For the first few days, they’d kept him in the hospital wing to make sure he was alright. They’d tested for the words, but the conditioning had been broken. Then, he’d been moved into a small, one person bedroom. Which, within twenty-four hours, he abandoned and moved into Steve’s small, one person bedroom. A few days later, T’Challa had been incredibly kind to give them a one bedroom guest suite on one of the upper levels of the palace, complete with kitchen and living room.

    They’d spent a lot of time cuddling and talking with one another. They’d watched a little T.V. because Bucky couldn’t stop getting a kick out of the _Dog Cops_ DVDs Clint had dropped off while he was in cryo. But mostly, they talked.

    Bucky had told Steve about the torture, not in detail to save his own sanity, but enough for Steve to have the jist of it. He told him about the newspaper, too. Which had led to Steve telling him about Schmidt’s death, and driving the airship into the ice—which, much to Bucky’s horror, had largely been because Steve didn’t want to live any longer without him. They’d had to stop talking for a while after that because Bucky hadn’t had an easy time absorbing the fact that Steve had attempted _suicide._ He’d cried himself to sleep, then started crying again as soon as he woke to find himself curled in Steve’s arms. He still wasn’t sure why he’d started crying the second time.

    Steve had calmed him down with funny stories from his time working with the Avengers—his family. Then, with encouragement from Bucky, Steve told him about how he’d adjusted to the future without him.

    At first, it had been incredibly hard for Steve. He’d hid in the apartment S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided for him. He’d read through the files of each of the Commandos, of Peggy who was still alive at the time and whom he visited until she passed, and finally of Bucky. Steve offhandedly commented how he’d felt like he had asthma again after Bucky’s file because he couldn’t breathe for days. Which, of course, broke Bucky’s calm. He felt bad for crying so much, but _jeezus Steve you can’t just say things like that._

    The Smithsonian had delivered Steve’s things to his apartment. “Things” included letters Bucky had sent him from the war until he was captured, old sketch books filled with Bucky, his old newspaper stuffed shoes, and a faded picture strip from Coney Island of Bucky sneaking kisses behind the safety of an automatic camera.

    “You’re thinkin’ so loud I can hear your gears turnin’.” Steve commented, and Bucky blinked up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. What’s buggin’ you?”

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout that camera strip.” Bucky mumbled.

Steve grinned down at him. “I was ready to sock you for doin’ that, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But it was worth it to see you all blushin’ and giggly.”

“I’ll show you _blushing and giggly._ ” Steve growled, fire igniting in his eyes as his hand let go of Bucky’s and began attacking his sides. Bucky yelped and squirmed, trying to get away. He ended up falling off the couch, which only made things worse because before he could get up Steve pounced, pinning him and tickling him from both sides.

When Bucky was hard pressed for breath and _begging_ for Steve to let off, he finally rolled off of Bucky, who poked him in the side and said,

“It ain’t fair, you know. I’m a cripple. You ain’t s’pposed to pick on cripples. Sarah taught you better.” Bucky laid on the accent, making Steve grin like they were twelve and in Bucky’s parents’ house again.

“Aww Buck, you know I’d never do such a thing!” Steve pretended to be offended by the mere idea, but honestly Bucky could be turned into a squirrel and Steve would still mess with him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I haven’t lied a day in my life.” Steve grinned, rolling on his side so that his face was barely an inch from Bucky’s. Bucky barked a laugh, knowing full well the extent of that falsehood.

    They’d gotten up to so much trouble as kids, and even more as adolescents when they’d discovered that girls just weren’t going to cut it. There had been a lot of lying then, not necessarily because they wanted to lie to everyone they knew, but because they had no choice. The risks of being honest had been too high.

    Not like the future. T’Challa had given them a _single bedroom_ for God’s sake! That kind of thing had been impossible when they were kids. In the future queers could be married, date openly, dance together…

    To say the least, he and Steve were in for the time of their lives. Tony—who, as time went by, steadily warmed up to Bucky—made constant quips when he visited about when they were going to have a wedding. Natalia would always raise an eyebrow when they stole a kiss or held hands around her, likely wondering the same thing.

    And then there was Sam. Mother fucking. Wilson.

    Bucky _loved_ this guy. Steve had one hell of a way of picking best friends if he, Sam, and Nat were anything to go by. Steve had a _serious_ type issue with friendship.

    Whenever Sam came by for a visit, he and Bucky had too much fun making Steve’s life a living hell. Sam would steal Bucky’s spot at the table, couch, and even the bed once which ended up with Sam locked in the storage closet until morning. Bucky would snatch the milk right out of Sam’s hand when he was about to pour it into his cereal, then proceed to drink it, eyes locked with Sam’s. And movies were a _joy_ with that man around. He and Sam would argue the entire time about various, nit-picky details until Steve threw his hands up in the air and left the room.

    He and Sam had shared so many high-fives behind Steve’s back they’d lost count.

    But Sam was also an incredible friend. He provided support to both him and Steve with his training from the V.A. And, when Bucky had first gotten out of cryo, Sam had pulled him aside and, after making sure he felt mentally stable, told him that Steve had really, truly missed him and that if Bucky were to ever “ditch Roger’s ass like that again” Sam would “personally tear him to shreds”.

    He’d also, on multiple occasions when Steve was out of the room, talked to Bucky about marriage. Apparently Clint was legally ordained to marry people, so they wouldn’t have to find someone outside of the group. Plus, he’d added, Bucky should propose because on multiple occasions Steve’d told Sam how he’d dreamed of such a thing since they were kids. The thought that Steve had been wanting to marry Bucky since they were _kids_ never ceased to send little trills of excitement through his veins.

    “Hey, Buck?” Steve asked, his voice suddenly very shy.

“Yeah, Stevie?” Bucky grinned. He loved it when Steve got shy.

    Steve was rarely shy around anyone. Around Bucky he was only shy when he wanted something. And then, he was only shy around other people when they mentioned his and Bucky’s relationship. Which Bucky understood, because back in their day mention of such a thing could’ve landed them in prison.

    “I was talkin’ with Sam the other day, and, uh.” Steve swallowed nervously, his eyes darting away from Bucky’s face and back. Bucky waited.

“Well…you know how Tony’s always teasin’ us about, you know…marriage?”

    God it was unbearably cute how Steve’s voice squeaked on that word.

    Funny how their minds had been on the same topic. Bucky realized his heart was pounding in his ears. Steve wasn’t the one who was supposed to propose. Bucky wasn’t going to let him.

“Sit up.” Bucky commanded, and Steve followed his lead so that they were sitting crisscross and facing one another.

“Steven Grant Rogers.” Bucky started, and Steve looked downright _scared_. Did he honestly think Bucky could ever say no?

Bucky took a steadying breath, took Steve’s hands in his own, and said, “I have loved you all my life, and will until the end of the line. Will you marry me?”

The look on Steve’s face was pure elation. He pulled Bucky into his arms and kissed him so hard that Bucky was convinced he was sucking the air from his lungs. Bucky kissed him back with as much enthusiasm.

They pulled back into a fit of giggles, and to anyone else it would’ve been the strangest sight. But to them, it was a dream come true.

They were going to get _married_.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a fic to get out some feels over Bucky and ended up in marriage. Welp.


End file.
